


The Balcony

by dreaming_about_fanfictions



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: F/M, NSFW, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:36:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23583211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreaming_about_fanfictions/pseuds/dreaming_about_fanfictions
Summary: Geralt finds your favorite spot in the castle and you soon understand that sharing isn't as bad a concept as it sounds ...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Reader, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 186





	The Balcony

You see him first.

He is standing on the balcony, looking out into the night. His arms are propped up on the balustrade, a glass of wine resting next to him. His composure is relaxed and he seems to feel at ease. An unusual sight.

You know who he is. Everyone does. The Witcher, people had whispered in the corridors, the Witcher is coming. To you, he was nothing more than a myth up until three days ago. Childhood stories, the handmaiden told you, to keep you from running into the woods alone. When you grew to be a woman, you forgot about them, thinking they were a mixture of exaggeration and fear. However, when he walked into the great hall with long strides and planted a kiss on your hand, your impression changed. He is everything they say. 

You observe him, wondering what brings him out here this summer night. The chamber is far away from the guest wing and hasn’t been used in years. You are the only one who still comes up occasionally to sit on the balcony, listening to the howling of the wind and the rustling of leaves from the nearby forest. It comforts you in a strange way, makes you forget your life at court with all its intrigues, politics and bloodshed.

A soft breeze wafts through the room, moving the old heavy curtains ever so slightly. You shiver as your nipple harden against the soft fabric of your nightgown. It is the only thing you wearing. After all, you didn’t expect others to see you.

In this moment, the bell from the high tower sounds. Midnight. It takes you off guard and causes you to breath in sharply. He hears you and tilts his head almost inconceivably. Almost.

You bite your lip, contemplating your next move. The well-behaved royal daughter inside you tells you to leave. Turn around and go back to your room. Fall asleep and wonder if this encounter has only been a dream. The other daughter, the one who sneaks around the castle at midnight, wonders what will happen if you approach him. You decide to listen to her.

It takes you another three seconds to muster up the courage before you start walking towards the balcony, your bare feet making no sound on the cold stone. Outside the wind blows softly and goosebumps appear on your arms – a cloak would have been a good idea. You stand next to him, nervously fidgeting with the cloth of your gown. “Witcher.”

He does not acknowledge your presence, keeping his eyes fixated on the woods. You ask yourself if he sees something out there that stays hidden from you. After a moment, he grabs his wine and takes a sip and carefully places it back on the balustrade. “Princess Y/N.”

You nearly shudder by the way your name rolls of his tongue.

“How did you find this chamber?”

Again, he takes his time to answer. “Couldn’t sleep,” he finally says.

“Doesn’t answer my question,” you respond.

“Hmm.” The Witcher takes another sip of the dark wine.

Disappointment and confusion dwells up inside of you. He irritates you, as you are not used to people talking to you like in that manner. Or not talking, in his case. Almost pouting you try a third time: “Why did you choose to come up here? There are other balconies, closer to your chambers.”

For the first time since you stepped outside, he looks at you. He’s beautiful. It is impossible to read his expression as he is eyeing you up, his gaze lingering just a moment too long on your chest. Suddenly, you become aware of the transparency of your nightgown and your cheeks flush. You clear your throat nervously and cross your arms.

The corners of his lips move upwards a little and he meets your eyes again. “You’re a curious one, aren’t you?”

“I am,” you reply a little louder than necessary to chase away the nervousness. “More than that, I’m the princess of this kingdom so I can order you to answer me if you choose to stay silent.” In your head, this sentence had sounded strong and confident. In reality however, it has more resemblance with a spoiled, overreacting, defiant child.

The Witcher seemingly has the same impression and raises his eyebrows.

You keep staring at him. It is too late to take the statement back so you might as well go with it.

“Do it then.”

“What?” A little bewildered you uncrossed your arms.

“Order me,” Geralt demands.

“You want me to order you?”

“That is what I said, yes,” he shrugs.

He’s playing with me, the thought shoots through your mind. “Alright then,” you straighten your composure and he mimics it. Now, Geralt of Rivia towers over you. You have to look up to him and the same feeling of irritation that you felt just moments before resurfaces. “I demand to know how you found this place and why you’re here.”

His lips twitch again and you realize, he’s suppressing another smile. “I’m here because I had a hard time falling asleep. In moments like this, I enjoy taking a walk. Instead of going outside, I decided to come here.”

You ponder shortly about the reason for his restlessness. Is it the full moon, shining too brightly, or simply nightmares? Does the Witcher, the Butcher of Blaviken, even experience such a mundane thing as nightmares? Do the monsters and people he kills on his way through the continent haunt him sometimes?

He continues to talk and pulls you out of your thoughts. “As to why I’m here, it’s a more … delicate story,” for a reason unknown, his voice becomes even lower.

You are intrigued. “Try me.”

“I saw this balcony while walking through the forest two nights ago.” A smirk appears on his face.

It clicks right away with you. Oh. Your cheeks flush, embarrassment taking over. You know what he is hinting at and close your eyes to gather your thoughts. Oh no. When you open them again, the smirk was still plastered on his face.

“You don’t know what you saw, Witcher.”

He chuckles. “Oh, I think I do, Y/N.”

There it is again – the shiver running down your spine as he pronounces your name with his sharp rivian accent. Absent-minded, you lick over your lips.

“How dare you watch –“

“I didn’t. Not for long anyways.”

You are doubtful whether to believe him. “You can hang for this.” Factually true. What he did was worthy of the death sentence.

“Princess,” Geralt takes a step towards you. Firewood and leather, you smell and it makes you feel dizzy. He lowers his head, mere inches separating you. “If you want to see me hang, you have to give reason to the king.” Factually true as well. “Please allow me to witness that particular conversation.”

“Fucking jerk,” you blurt out. How does he do it? How does he make you feel like a sixteen-year-old girl who has never talked to a boy before? You are a princess, damn beautiful and even more powerful. No man has the right to take your control away like this and leave you breathless, desperately looking for words. Especially not a Witcher.

He smiles and lowers his head a little further. “I know.”

His lips are now so close to yours they would probably touch when you said another word. You can sense the warmth radiating from his body and his eyes watching you intensly, observing every movement of your face. You are blissfully aware of what he wants in this moment, what he craves. Quickly you become aware that there might be certain things he still has in common with other men and now you are the one with the smirk on your lips. The Witcher notices it, yet reads your reaction wrong and faintly brushes his fingers against the side of your body. It’s all your body needs. A tingling sensation and your breath hitches. He takes it as a another sign and parts his lips and …

… you take a step backwards. As if someone woke him up from a daydream, he regains his composure, a hint of bewilderment running over his face.

“Careful, Witcher,” you reprimand him. “Don’t forget who’s standing in front of you.”

Having the control of the situation was what you wanted – now you have it. Not without shooting him a last mocking smile, you turn around and walk away with your head held high. Left on the balcony in a chilly summer night is a dumbfounded Witcher, watching you exit the room and disappear into the dark corridor.

*** 

Over the next day, Geralt of Rivia leaves the castle with his bard. He is looking for the reason he traveled to the kingdom in the first time – a beast that already slaughtered half a dozen villagers.

He leaves early in the morning and as you pass him in the hall, you do not look at him. The back of your hand brushes against his, quickly, teasingly, as if you accidentally walked by too close. You feel his eyes on you and smile when he is out of sight.

When he returns in the evening, he announces his success. The monster is dead and the king and queen want to celebrate, so they order the staff to cook the finest dishes and bring out the best wine. He declines but four hours pass and the festivities start. People are dancing, drinking, and his companion sings of the Witchers latest victory.

At one point, Geralt is leaning against a pillar, drink in hand. He watches the crowd, seemingly bored, when his eyes trail in your direction and meet yours. This time, you don’t look away. The music and chatter around you start to blur as the two of you keep watching each other. Your fingers play with the heavy necklace resting against your bosom and he follows them as though he is captivated by the sight.

A glass falling, shattering and spilling its content all over the ground ultimately brings you back to reality. You break the eye contact and abruptly stand up.

“I’m tired, please excuse me,” you mumble, unsure if someone hears you.

*** 

One hour later, you are standing on the balcony again. 

When you had left the party you were honest in wanting to go to sleep. So back in your chambers, you changed out of your dress into your nightgown, undid your hair and laid down. However, something keeps you awake and it is not possible to fall asleep. You toss and turn and for whatever reason finally decide to come back up here.

It is not as quiet tonight as you are used to. People from the party keep coming out for a breath of fresh air and guards are patrolling the gardens. You watch them silently.

“Figured I’d find you here.”

You don’t flinch or wince at the low voice sounding from the dark room behind you, having expected him to come here.

The door falls shut and a sense of excitement flows through you. His steps come closer until you feel him standing directly behind you. His hot breath touches the skin of your neck and a shiver runs down your spine.

“Why did you choose to come up here? There are other balconies closer to your chamber,” Geralts voice is nothing more than a whisper.

You smile softly. “Couldn’t sleep,” you murmur, repeating his words from last night.

“Hmm…”

His hand is resting on your hip now, only the thin fabric of your gown separating him from your skin. The touch makes your heart pound faster and the same tingling sensation, you had felt before, appears.

“Y/N,” he whispers in your ear. “Tell me, I’m not reading this wrong …”

“This?” 

With a swift movement he spins you around and presses you up against the balustrade. You draw a sharp breath of air in surprise and are not sure if it’s the cold metal from his belt that causes your nipples to get hard or the way his hands hug your hips.

“This,” he repeated himself, his voice hoarse and his eyes as dark as the night sky.

Maybe it was the way your lips parted or that you tilted your head or how you moved your hips forward slightly – either way, Geralt realizes that he is not reading anything wrong at all and kisses you. 

Finally.

The kiss is rough and demanding and you feel the need to grab him by his jacket to hold on to him. One of his hands cups your face and his tongue slips in your mouth. He is possessive and you feel as if he tries to claim you, tries to make him his. Suddenly Geralt lifts you up onto the balustrade and you immediately wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him even closer. The ground is thirty feet beneath you and you do not care for dying this way.

“I got you,” he whispers and groans when you grind your hips against his. “I won’t let you fall.” 

He begins kissing down your neck, sucking on the soft skin. It will leave marks, you are sure of it, yet it doesn’t matter. One of his hand reaches your breasts, his thumb flicking over your hard nipples, and you sigh heavily as he plays with them.

“This gown,” he is out of breath when he speaks, “… it drives me crazy.”

You chuckle. “I know…”

A gasp leaves your lips when you hear the loud sound of fabric tearing and feel the wind on your bare skin. He kisses your collarbone and travels down further, his tongue reaching the delicate skin of your breasts, caressing your nipple playfully before closing his mouth around it.

You moan and your head falls back, eyes closed, and then you start pushing his jacket from his shoulders. You want to feel his skin too, touch it, kiss it. When it falls to the ground, you tug at his shirt, your hands sliding underneath it. It’s not enough, you think or maybe you say it out lout because you feel Geralt smiling against your skin.

You grab his belt, opening it, breathing heavily and letting out soft whimpers as he bites and sucks on your skin. When the pants finally spring open, they free his impressive length and the sight of him, hard and dripping for you, makes you shudder. You reach for it, enclosing it, slowly moving your hand up and down. Geralt groans deeply and pulls away to meet your lips. He holds you tightly as the kiss hastens together with the movements of your hands. Your insides twirl at the sounds he makes.

“I need you…” The expression on his face is pure bliss. Eyes closed, mouth opened slightly. 

He is a sight for the gods.

“Then take me, Witcher.”

He doesn’t ask a second time and positions himself in front of your wet and throbbing cunt. His hot shaft against your skin, he curses when he feels how wet you are, and every fiber of your body wants him – wants him deep inside of you, filling you completely, fucking you until you forget your own name. 

When he finally does, he is not gentle. He enters you with one hard trust and a loud moan escapes your lips. He stretches you far, so far, it almost pains you – and yet it is the most delicious pain you ever felt. You pull him in for another kiss, swallowing another curse from his lips. The moment he starts moving, pleasure overcomes you like a wave and you bite down on his lips so hard you are scared it draws blood. Geralt slides in and out of you, pressing your leg, forcing it to spread open even wider. You gasp at the new angle and your muscle clench around him. The two of you are panting heavily, groaning and curses fill the silence of the night.

It doesn’t take long and you feel a familiar heat start arousing in your body. Spots appear in front of your eyes and you scratch his back in an attempt to feel him closer to you.

“Oh, fuck – you fill me so good!” You are so close, so damn close – 

The Witcher stops moving abruptly and you whimper, demanding to know what he think he’s doing. He doesn’t give you an answer and instead places a hand over your mouth.

“Quiet,” he murmurs into your ear between heavy breathing. “There are people outside.”

Only now you hear them talking, merely a few feet beneath. Guests from the festivities, you figure. Frustrated, you try to bite his calloused fingers covering your lips.

“Ah, Princess,” his hoarse voice in your ear makes you twitch and as you roll your hips against him, his breath hitches. “You don’t want them to see you like this, do you? Hot, sweaty, filled by my thick cock –“

You moan against his fingers.

He looks at you in surprise, a teasing smile on his lips. “Or maybe you do?” Slowly, he begins to move again. The pace is pure torture and your hips rock up, begging him to take you. He moans in your ear. “Does it turn you on, Princess? Letting me fuck you like this, making you beg and quiver underneath me and for the whole world to see?” Every other word is punctuated by hard thrusts and your whimpers.

“Is this why I saw you touching yourself three nights ago?” Geralt fucks you harder and faster, the sound of naked bodies smacking against each other filling the air. You don’t think it’s possible but his words make you even wetter, your slick juices running down your leg. 

“Who was the man you thought about when I saw you, Y/N?” Now it’s not a simple question anymore, it’s a demand. “Who made you cum like that?” He is ordering you to answer him and it turns you on beyond imagination.

He removes his hand to steady himself on the balustrade and you moan so loudly that if anyone is still standing underneath the balcony, they definitely heard you now. However, your mind isn’t occupied with that particular concern.

“You,” you admit breathlessly. “I thought about you … touching me … taking me …” It’s the truth. It was the day you met him for the first time and the handsome Witcher wouldn’t leave your mind. So you came up here, unaware someone was watching you. When you touched yourself that night, you thought about what he would do to you. How he would take you, where he would kiss you. Yet, your imagination did not even come close to the way he feels inside you right now.

“Gods,” he groans, losing all control, fucking you violently, taking you as he pleases. You repeat his name over and over again, begging him not to stop, to never ever stop. Then your legs start shaking and you hear him calling out your name before you come all over his cock, muscles clenching around him. A wave of heat and pleasure hits you, taking over your body and mind and you cling onto him desperately, his name still on your lips. He follows shortly after, cursing and releasing himself inside of you.

Your breath trembles as you ride out the last waves of your orgasm and he keeps holding you close and safe in his arms.

After a few seconds or minutes, you truly are not sure, you plant a soft kiss on his shoulder. Geralt looks up, his breathing slowing down, and he pushes a strand of hair out of your face. A smile appears on his face. “I must say, I’ve come to understand what you like about this balcony.”

You snort. “It’s still my balcony,” you claim cheekily.

“Maybe the princess is kind enough to let me visit some times.”

“Maybe,” you lean in for a last kiss. It is sweet this time. Sweet and – in a way – loving. “If you behave yourself.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promises. Then he carefully pulls out of you and you sigh softly before you slide down the balustrade.

Geralt dresses himself, picking his jacket up from the ground, but when you attempt to do the same you see what is left of your dress. It isn’t much. “How am I supposed to get to my chambers now? Naked?”, you propose sarcastically.

His eyes travel up and down your bare skin at the question as he buttons up his pants and he licks his lips. “Maybe not at all,” he suggests seductively, a teasing smirk on his lips and you both laugh when he lifts you up and carries you inside the chamber.

Nearby, the old bell in the high tower sounds. Midnight.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first smut fanfiction, I hope you liked it! Check out my tumblr @dreaming-about-starfleet. I take requests there :)


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